


How the Light Gets In

by blueapplesour



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Babysitting, Coitus Interruptus, Eventual Happy Ending, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Past Ferdinand von Aegir/Manuela Casagranda, Romantic Comedy, Saucy Photos, Single Parents, Sloppy Makeouts, Tags Contain Spoilers, Temporary Breakup, original child character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueapplesour/pseuds/blueapplesour
Summary: “Oh no, not someone from the opera, well, he studied opera, but he works at the museum, he lets me into the historical fashion collections when I need to do research. Um, anyway, we were talking the other day, and he mentioned he’s lonely but it’s hard to find people willing to date him because of certain things, and Bernie can read between the lines! So I thought, I’ll introduce him to Hubert!” Her voice shrinks, and she holds up her menu again as a half-hearted shield. “You are gay, right?”Hubert is often quiet. He is not often speechless. “Bernadetta...”“Try it, okay?! He’s really, really nice, also a little bit weird, and you’re really, really weird, but also a little bit nice, so I thought, um, anyway, he’s coming in right now, have fun, bye!!!!”-A first date goes better and ends sooner than expected.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 101
Kudos: 179





	1. How the Light Gets in Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh no, not someone from the opera, well, he studied opera, but he works at the museum, he lets me into the historical fashion collections when I need to do research. Um, anyway, we were talking the other day, and he mentioned he’s lonely but it’s hard to find people willing to date him because of certain things, and Bernie can read between the lines! So I thought, I’ll introduce him to Hubert!” Her voice shrinks, and she holds up her menu again as a half-hearted shield. “You are gay, right?”
> 
> Hubert is often quiet. He is not often speechless. “Bernadetta...”
> 
> “Try it, okay?! He’s really, really nice, also a little bit weird, and you’re really, really weird, but also a little bit nice, so I thought, um, anyway, he’s coming in right now, have fun, bye!!!!”
> 
> -
> 
> A first date goes better and ends sooner than expected.

_Lunch????? 1330, West End Cafe????_

The handful of question marks speak of the texter even more clearly than the venus flytrap icon. Hubert stares blearily at his phone screen, mug of morning coffee still warm in his hand. 

It must be something important if she’s asking to meet on a Sunday afternoon in a rather crowded part of Enbarr. The location is even more of a mystery than the invitation; last week he’d helped her procure a rare variety of Australian Sundew and spent an afternoon helping repot the glistening, carnivorous thing, and if there was some problem with the plant surely they’d be meeting at her apartment. Surely she wouldn’t drag him out for anything as dull as opera gossip, though it could have something to do with the upcoming gala. Bernadetta was the head costume designer for the Mittlefrank Opera Company, and that company one of the largest beneficiaries of Hresvelg Group’s charity efforts. Perhaps she’s looking to make something for Edelgard to attend in.

He had planned to spend the day on the couch with spreadsheets and the laptop he has smuggled out of the office when Edelgard had informed him that she would be changing the door’s security code on weekends and he is not to attempt to come in. 

There had been no specific pronouncement about taking his work laptop home. While he concedes that the computer and files currently looking very cozy on his dark leather couch are not entirely in the spirit of her orders, he is still obeying the letter. No matter what their CEO thinks of his health, dynasties are not founded on rest, and corporate saboteurs don’t take holidays.

But if he does go out and meet Bernadetta, he will honestly be able to say he took time to have lunch with a friend, which will possibly help Edelgard overlook the addendums to several open reports that will have mysteriously appeared over the weekend. 

He takes a sip of the cooling coffee, sliding a finger across the screen to type a response. He could ask for more details, but that would only kick off a spiral of her thinking he was making excuses, and then he’d be exhausted before even arriving. 

With quick fingers he types back _okay._

The answer comes quick as lightning.

_Really???????????_

_yes_

No sooner has he set the phone back down when it begins to buzz on the dark marble countertop in a headache-inducing stacatto, and he snatches it up. “Bernadetta.”

There is a breathy squeak instead of a proper hello. “You..you knew it was me?”

At least she isn’t there to see his smile. “Call it an educated guess.”

“Right. Right. Anyway, about today...”

She pauses, and he waits for more information about whatever her current predicament is, and then to congratulate her on having simplified his life by taking the step to call. A deep inhale echoes on the line.

“Don’tbelateandwearsomethingniceokbye!!!” Bernadetta hangs up and he holds dead air. 

Wear something...nice? 

#

Bernadetta must have had a very particular craving to have sent them both to the western edge of Enbarr. The neighborhood, though nice enough, was more the province of young families: children’s pottery studios, dog parks, and places selling ice cream made from every kind of milk it was possible to categorize. Too many bicycles, not enough parking, multiple allergy-inducing community gardens on reclaimed lots. It was brighter than the neighborhood around his downtown loft in spades, but had none of the efficiency, and he cursed under his breath as his GPS sent him around yet another block without a single open space.

He slips into the cafe at 1:27, Bernadetta already seated in a back corner table, tugging on her hair and drilling into her phone with her eyes. 

“I’m here. Have you already ordered something?” 

She jumps as he slides into the seat across from her. “Oh! I was so sure you weren’t going to show up, I know that doesn’t sound like you, but...”

“I’m here,” he repeats before she can get ahead of herself. “Now what do you need?”

But she’s studying him now, bottom lip between her teeth. He feels absurdly like one of her little plants being inspected for mold or spider mites. 

Her little whine says she’s found a mite. “I told you to dress _nice_.” 

He glances down at his shirt, a perfectly respectable dark button-up, freshly ironed by the laundry service. The black slacks are practically new, even, the belt a Christmas present from Edelgard that cost more than he was comfortable with her spending on him, and he’d told her so. “I thought I had.”

“You’re dressed _funeral_ nice, I should have been more specific, this is all my fault...”

Hubert does not dignify the ramble at the expense of his more than tolerable fashion choices with a response and instead scans the menu while she collects herself. His scrutiny is only for show; there’s not a cafe in town that doesn’t at least have some bastardized variant of coffee, and after the miserable drive he is in dire need of a cup. 

“Anyway,” she says finally. “I, um, I have something to ask you. Would you be interested in a date?”

Ah, it clicks with sudden lock-pick precision. The sudden invitation. The concern about his clothing. The poor thing must have finally found the courage to ask, she had stuck rather close last week as he was explaining the soil care and poisonous properties of her new plant. “I’m incredibly flattered, Bernadetta. But...”

She explodes in a bark of a laugh, then reddens at how loudly it came out and ducks behind her menu. Hubert isn’t sure if he should be relieved or insulted.

“Oh please don’t be angry at that! I mean, anyone would be lucky to date you...”

Debatable, but she continues before he can object. 

“And, um, that’s why I wanted to talk to you, because I know someone who, um, I could introduce.”

Bernadetta, shrinking violet Bernedatta, wants to...set him up? Who would she even know outside of work?

“I’m not interested in opera stars,” he says. Too much theatricality gives him a headache. 

“Oh no, not someone from the opera, well, he studied opera, but he works at the museum, he lets me into the historical fashion collections when I need to do research. Um, anyway, we were talking the other day, and he mentioned he’s lonely but it’s hard to find people willing to date him because of certain things, and Bernie can read between the lines! So I thought, I’ll introduce him to Hubert!”Her voice shrinks, and she holds up her menu again as a half-hearted shield. “You are gay, right?” 

Hubert is often quiet. He is not often speechless. “Bernadetta...”  
“Try it, okay?! He’s really, really nice, also a little bit weird, and you’re really, really weird, but also a little bit nice, so I thought, um, anyway, he’s coming in right now, have fun, bye!!!!” 

The silverware on the table rattles as she jumps to her feet and is gone. 

The woman was wasted in sewing, she’d missed her calling as an Olympic sprinter. 

Hubert turns in his chair, prepared to call after her and demand even slightly more explanation, when the words are shoved back in his mouth with as much force as a fist by the sight of the man walking towards him. 

He’s tall, well built, wearing an oversized sweater in jewel-toned sapphire and dark jeans stretched criminally tight around clearly toned thighs. His copper red hair is pulled into a high ponytail showing off expressive golden-brown eyes. It swishes with every step, Hubert’s eyes following it like a fish on a baited line before he even realizes what he’s doing.

Hubert is an expert at swift and correct analysis, and his analysis is this: this man is ludicrously attractive. No one actually needs to be this physically appealing, and no one who is such needs their friends to set them up on dates.

The only reasonable conclusion is that Bernadetta has made up far too much backstory to cover the fact that she has hired him an extremely expensive prostitute in a display of gratitude well beyond the repayment needed for a few questionably-sourced plants.

“Are you my date?” The stranger asks, leaning forward slightly. “I am afraid I didn’t get much more out of dear Bernadetta than the thumbs up as she ran away from what looked like this table.” 

He doesn’t seem to think there was anything unusual about that, he must know Bernadetta well. Which rather undercuts the prostitute theory, unless Bernadetta is keeping more from him than he’s realized.

“I suppose I am. Hubert von Vestra.” Should he stand? 

The stranger sticks out his hand. “Very nice to meet you. I am Ferdinand von Aegir.” 

His hand is warm and slightly calloused, the touch electric then cold as Ferdinand pulls away and settles himself across from Hubert. They stare at each other in a moment of awkward silence, a slight attractive flush creeping over Ferdinand’s freckled cheeks before he looks down at the menu.

“Well, I suppose we should order something,” Ferdinand says brightly after a moment. “Have you had a chance to look?”

“I was about to order coffee.” Hubert turns to flag the server, but she’s chatting with the cashier, one leg cocked and back to the floor. Ordinarily he would simple call her over and perhaps offer a snide remark, but this is somehow a date. He will mind his manners.

“Coffee?” Ferdinand frowns with a slight shake of his head that causes his ponytail to ripple. “Late in the day for that, is it not?”

Hubert raises an eyebrow. “It’s barely afternoon.” 

“Still, there are multiple studies detailing the importance of limiting caffeine intake in the hours before sleep. I never touch the stuff, it is very easy to become dependant you know.” Her purses his lips, as if he considers the conversation over, and glances back to their still-occupied waitress. 

Well this is off to a fantastic start. “In what universe is...” Hubert looks at his watch, “One-forty p.m. anywhere near the hours before sleep? And let me guess, you’re one of those people who gets all the energy they need from joie de vie or some other nonsense?”

Ferdinand looks half offended, pulling back into a little huff with the menu tight in his hands. Then, to Hubert’s surprise he laughs, a warm, mellow sound. He leans in again, the v of his sweater gaping with shadows that hint at the chest beneath. 

Hubert is starting to wonder if he owes Bernadetta a very expensive prostitute. 

“Some days I wonder! I did not mean to give offense, truly. And there are mornings I dearly wish I could stomach the stuff. ” 

He flags their server, and Hubert is again momentarily distracted by the bounce of his ponytail. He has a sudden fervent and sincere wish to wrap a hand in the stupidly long stands and tug. Pull it down and see it spread across his pillow, perhaps. 

“I’ll have the lunch plate with the mixed greens, and a southern fruit blend I think. Hubert?”

Ferdinand drops his name so casually, like it’s left his lips a thousand times before. 

“Black coffee.”He glances across the table, where Ferdinand is looking at the menu again and twirling the end of his ponytail in thought. “Make it an iced coffee.”

At that Ferdinand looks back up, something sparking in his amber eyes. “If you must have coffee do, but that cannot be your sole nourishment. You need to eat something.”

Annoyance curls through the budding attraction, yet somehow does nothing to dampen it. “How do you know I didn’t already have lunch?” 

The waitress sighs. “I can come back with your drinks.” She leaves without confirming.

Ferdinand tilts his head and rests his chin on his hand. “Did you?”

Now it is Hubert who laughs in spite of himself. “Actually, no. But I’m not hungry.” 

“I am going to feel very awkward eating by myself, Hubert.”

“And I fail to see how that’s my problem.” The words snap before he can stop them, and he feels a small swoop of terror that he has entirely fucked this up as Ferdinand startles, then chuckles into his hand. 

“That sounds like the start of a hunger-induced tantrum if I have ever heard one, but by all means, starve.” There’s more amusement than malice in his tone. “Now please, tell me about yourself. Bernadetta left out...mostly everything.”

Of course. “As you may have gathered, I’m not much of a conversationalist. Perhaps she didn’t want to give you a bad impression. ”

“Well,” The flush on Ferdinand’s cheeks is back, a shade darker than before. “There are a few things she could have mentioned that would have piqued my interest.”

Hubert swallows. “Why did you even agree to come, knowing so little about me?”

“Why did you?” Ferdinand counters as the waitress slides their drinks in front of them. Hubert picks up the coffee, takes an experimental sip. Tolerable, if overpriced.

“In my case, I was tricked into it. I thought I was having lunch with Bernadetta.”

The air between them seems to chill, and Ferdinand’s smile falters for the first time. “...oh.”

Well shit. “She knew that if she told me she was setting me up on a date, I would never have agreed. I’m...rather married to my work, some say.” 

Ferdinand sips his own tea, wisps of steam rising to curl around his face, and Hubert is momentarily and irrationally irritated at the teacup and its stupid painted roses for blocking his view. “If it makes you feel any better, this is my first date in...” Ferdinand’s gaze drifts up, calculating. “For my pride, shall we just say years?”

It has to be a lie, but there’s no polite way to call him on it. A little digging at home once Hubert is back on his computer will have to suffice. 

“Surprising,” is all he allows. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about your work. I must confess, I’ve never had much of an eye for art.”  
“A museum is so much more than just _art_ , Hubert.” Ferdinand leans forward, suddenly very intense and very close. 

He can’t suppress a smirk. “Enlighten me.”

If Hubert had known those would be the last words he would get in for the remainder of the hour he would have perhaps suggested going somewhere more comfortable. Ferdinand’s lunch is ignored as he prattles on about history and the importance of preserving values and information for future generations, then something about relics, which trips into restoration, which happens to be Ferdinand’s area of expertise, and did Hubert know about the just-rediscovered hinge technique that is making armor restoration even more accurate... 

At least, that’s what Hubert gathers in between moments spent watching Ferdinand’s hair swing with his animated movements and wondering just how out of line it would be to put his mouth over the other man’s somehow still-moving mouth and shut him up. The iced coffee isn’t nearly cold enough.

Suddenly Ferdinand freezes mid-thought and mid-gesture as his eyes land on Hubert’s watch, his face paling. “I am so sorry, I really have to go. I lost track of the time, it was lovely to meet you.” Even the pleasantry sounds forced and distracted. He fumbles with his wallet, throwing down some money and turning to go.

So that’s it, Hubert thinks as Ferdinand weaves around staff and customers on his way to the door. He is getting blown off. 

He’s not surprised, but it stings nonetheless. 

When Ferdinand gets to the door, however, he pauses, looking back over his shoulder. There’s something uncertain in his gaze. He’s put down more than enough to cover his half of the bill, it can’t be that. He must have realized that while he may have gotten Hubert’s nodded agreement that his work is very interesting, a man can’t live on validation alone and he really should take his sandwich with him.

Hubert waves to the waitress and points at the plate, indicating the need for a box as Ferdinand turns back towards him. With his failed date so eager to get out, Hubert will save him the seconds and relish the petty superiority of the high road. 

“The waitress is bringing a box,” he says at the same time Ferdinand says “May I have your phone number, and possibly call you in the future?”

Hubert is caught off-guard for the second time that day. He already has his phone out, about to mortify Bernadetta by explaining in no uncertain terms why she should keep her opinions on his love life to herself for the rest of eternity, so he offers it to Ferdinand. “Here, if you’re in such a rush, put yours in. I’ll text you.”

“Really?” 

Why did he sound _surprised_? 

Instead of picking up the phone like any normal person, Ferdinand puts it back down on the table and leans over Hubert to type. His stupid silky ponytail is tickling Hubert’s cheek. His free hand is on Hubert’s shoulder. He smells like leather soap and pomegranate, which have no right to work together as well as they do. 

Hubert keeps his hands pressed tightly to his thighs, wrinkling his nice new slacks. 

“There.” Ferdinand pushes the phone away with his fingertips.

He’s still close. If Hubert turns his head even slightly...

But Ferdinand has already straightened and is half-jogging to the door, stupid ponytail still fluttering behind him, jeans still worthy of a citation. 

Hubert picks up his phone again and taps on Bernadetta’s name.

_thank you_

Thumbs up emojis fill the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the fact that I love Ferdibert, but I also love how in the Ferdinand/Manuela ending he becomes a stay-at-home dad. Love that for him.


	2. How the Light Gets In chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sending salacious photos. Working from home. Hubert is starting to put two and two together. 
> 
> He has always liked math. 
> 
> -
> 
> Second dates, first kisses, past trauma, promises.

A thorough internet investigation of Ferdinand von Aegir has revealed the following:

\- Not a prostitute.  
\- Son of former senator Ludwig von Aegir, currently sitting in jail for tax evasion and securities fraud. Does not appear to be involved with family at present.  
\- Has exactly one social media account: an Instagram focused on historical weapons and armor restoration that is stupidly interesting; Hubert loses several hours of research time following the progress of a particularly wicked-looking dagger.  
\- Occasionally appears tagged on the account of one gentlefarmmari, a horse and bird rescue much less interesting than the weapons. Pinned stories include “talking to my birds as birds!” and something called “cottagecore.”  
\- Looks fantastic on horseback. Horses appear to love him. Hubert is not jealous. 

It’s a paltry amount of information, and even more of a wasteland for photographs of the bouncy ponytail and ass that are currently haunting his dreams. Thus far there have been countless texts (he should have guessed that the man would be a triple texter), sometimes flirtatious, sometimes argumentative, and really, the two aren’t so different. There have been late night conversations, and Hubert has learned to ask a baited question that will get him several minutes of answer, a kind of ASMR to wind down the day if ASMR was both deeply relaxing and a cheerfully cadenced headache.

Perhaps he has latent masochistic tendencies. 

But they still haven’t managed to meet again. Hubert has proposed two different dates, both shot down for vague reasons, and he will be damned if he makes the next overture. 

Ordinarily he would write the whole thing up as a wash, block Ferdinand's number for wasting his time, and move on. At the moment, however, it isn’t like there is anyone else holding his attention. Far better than the other extreme of someone demanding too much attention. 

He has become used to morning texts, and won't admit that it's pleasant to know that someone cares enough to think about him at the start of their day. So when his phone pings in the elevator, he pulls it out immediately. Hilda, propped lazily on the wall behind him and touching up lip gloss as pink as her hair, glances up at the sound.

They are treated to the sight of a generous amount of tanned and freckled skin in a bathroom mirror, a towel barely offering any modesty and a rather generous suggestion of what lies beneath, the view only slightly obscured by shower steam. Beads of water trickle down a sculpted chest. A tangle of freshly washed hair is tossed over one shoulder. 

A small fist punches his arm with surprising force. Hubert can’t breathe.

“Holy shit...” Hilda grins, her fingers curling into his jacket to peer as he stares, frozen. “Is that why you’ve been looking even more zombiefied than usual lately, too many late nights doing things that aren’t company business?”

Is it too late to call off the merger with Leicester Allied Industrial? 

He jams the nearest button, sweat dampening his neck as he shoves the phone in a pocket.

“This is my floor,” he offers tersely as the door opens, even though it is not, and she knows it. 

“Remember to follow your boyfriend’s lead when you return the favor, skin or grin, not both!” she calls from the elevator, causing startled heads to poke out of every cubicle. 

Hubert gathers his tattered dignity, stomps up the two flights of stairs to his office, locks the door, and calls Ferdinand. “You realize I am at work?”

“I am not,” is the infuriating reply. “I am sorry, it was out of line. Please delete it.”

He sounds genuinely apologetic, but there is zero chance of that happening.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t appreciated. Merely unexpected.” And now likely the subject of office gossip, but there was no reason to pass that on. He turns in his office chair to look out the window at the wide expanse of the city below, the blue sky and sun of a crisp fall day reflected in dozens of windows like little pools. “You were saying you’re free today?”

“Mmm, not technically. The museum closes on the third Tuesday each month for cleaning. I am working from home.” The sound of keyboard clicks and small, frustrated sighs punctuate the words. 

Sending salacious photos. Working from home. Hubert is starting to put two and two together. 

He has always liked math. 

“Care for company? I’ve got a meeting at two, but I could slip away for an hour.” It’s not something he makes a habit of, but he started prepping for the meeting at 5 a.m. and there is some leeway in his morning schedule. Really, he thinks, glancing at the photo again, what is the point of planning redundancies in triplicate if you don’t occasionally make use of them. 

Another few clips, a sip of what is probably tea. “My house is a wreck...”

“Come to mine.” Whether minimalism or a lack of interest in decor, there isn’t much in his house that could get wrecked except for Ferdinand. On the couch. On his bed. On the kitchen table or the balcony, he really doesn’t care at this point. 

A small laugh. “That seems a little forward.”

“From the man sending nudes at nine a.m.?”

He can practically hear the embarrassed offense in the silence. Somehow his very simple calculation was wrong. He tries not to groan. "Then let me take you to lunch. A thank you for the...present.” 

He realizes too late he has broken his resolve not to ask for Ferdinand's time yet again. 

“I think that would work, actually. Shall we meet at Memorial Park and grab something there? It is a lovely day, and the park on my line.” 

“You remember I have a car, don’t you? I’ll pick you up. We can go to an actual restaurant.” There’s an oceanside bistro he’s actually quite fond of, delicious fish saute, decent views, relative quiet. It's an attractive image, drinks on the terrace, all that beautiful hair blowing in the ocean breeze. 

“Maybe next time? The mid-day traffic is awful, we would likely miss our window entirely." 

_It was hard enough wrangling you_ this _time_.Hubert looks at the photo again for patience. Perhaps they will meet, and Ferdinand will be less appealing than he remembers, and he will get this new and vaguely irritating infatuation out of his head. “Very well. Park it is.”

#

The bench by the lake is not quite oceanside, but the leafy shade and sun-dappled water are a tolerable sight. Particularly since Ferdinand won’t look directly at him, and his cheeks remain too pink for it to simply be the nip of autumn chill. Hubert was right about one thing; his hair, down today, makes a pretty sight when the wind touches it. The fact that it would make a prettier sight in Hubert's fist, or fanning across his floor, will have to be set aside for the moment.

At least he has the picture, now securely locked away in a hidden file, to comfort him.

“I am really quite ashamed of my earlier behavior.” Ferdinand says after they have eaten their park hot dogs (better than Hubert anticipated, really) in a fairly awkward silence. “It was a suggestion made by a friend of mine, and upon further discussion I do not think she actually intended me to follow her advice. I am not generally one for crass gestures.”

Hubert snorts at the confession. “Does it help at all if I tell you I wasn’t offended?”

“No. I am still quite sure I will die of mortification. You may in fact be sitting with a ghost.” He tosses the last of his bun to one of the swans..swanning...in front of them, and it blasts out a honk. Another pretty, loud thing for Hubert’s day.

“Quite a shame,” Hubert replies. “After that photo I was looking forward to spending more time with a certain corporeal body.” 

Ferdinand’s blush deepens, but that does earn Hubert a smile. “Bernadetta says hello, by the way. I saw her yesterday.”

Annoyance flickers through Hubert’s good will. So he’ll visit with Bernadetta, but can’t make time for a date unless he gets dragged out. “You never did tell me how you know each other.” 

“Oh. Well, it was through the opera, actually. My...” He pauses, fingers fiddling with his collar, arm now tense where it is pressed against Hubert’s. “My late wife was a performer with the company.”

“Your...wife?” Unexpected. He hadn’t asked age, but his impression was that Ferdinand was even younger than he was, and Hubert himself had only just turned thirty. “Was it recent?” 

_I’m sorry._ would have probably been a better choice than prying, but Hubert has never been much for condolences. 

“Oh, no. It will have been four years next month.” Ferdinand rubs at his left hand, where a ring once sat. “Longer than we were married, actually.” He smiles, soft and wistful. 

“I really had no idea. I didn’t see anything...”

“When you were researching me, no doubt?” There is equal humor and reproach in Ferdinand’s voice. “Unless you had actually gone to the city office I doubt you would have found anything. My family objected, she was worried about her professional reputation, and so we kept to ourselves. Her obituary focused on her accomplishments.” His smile now is proud in a way that touches something in Hubert. “There were many.”

“Hm.” Social niceties dictate that Hubert should ask if he wants to talk about it. He is not good at social niceties, and he has already learned that if Ferdinand von Aegir wishes to talk about something, there is very little he can do to stop him.

“I am being a rather bad date, am I not? The whole debacle with that picture was trying to make you like me, and now I am sitting here on a lovely day with a handsome man and reminiscing about painful times.” 

At least he thinks he’s handsome. “On our first date you nearly ran away.”

“Make it two bad dates, then.”

“I didn’t say that. When I was _researching_ you, as you put it, I saw about your father. Knowing that you are also a widower, I think it is very admirable that you’ve moved forward.”

“Oh?” Ferdinand shifts closer, his warmth pressing through the fabric of Hubert's jacket. “Well, you have me at quite a disadvantage. There may be holes in my online presence, but you are non-existent! Even when we talk, you burden me with the bulk of the conversation. I do not even know your hobbies.”

“Burden, is that your interpretation?” Hubert rolls his eyes at the sky. “I’ve told you before, I work. I read when I have time, crime novels, mostly. Apparently now I have lunch in parks.”

“One lunch does not a hobby make,” Ferdinand counters, and his head tilts, coming very close to Hubert’s cheek. “Unless we make it a more regular occurrence?” 

Hubert closes the distance between them, resting his cheek gently on Ferdinand’s hair. Even softer than he imagined. He will not abandon his dignity by nuzzling it. “Perhaps.”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand asks softly. “This is strange, but have you ever been in love?”

“In love? No.” He has found people appealing, certainly, and indulged physical cravings with a few efficient swipes on apps designed for that purpose. Longer entanglements are a nuisance. Then he thinks of Edelgard, the long nights put in in their school days and beyond, watching their quiet investments in research grow into the behemoth of a firm she now heads. “But there is someone I love very much, lest you think me completely deficient.” 

“I was not judging you,” Ferdinand assures him. “I...there is also someone I love very much.” He turns slightly, head tucking under Hubert’s chin, a pensive note in the air. 

Hubert's patience finally snaps and he lifts a hand and runs it through Ferdinand’s hair, stroking and curling the silken strands around his fingers. The other man stiffens. 

“You don’t like that?” Hubert asks, withdrawing. If he is going to have all that hair and not want it to be played with, this is never going to work.

“Oh, not not at all, please continue.” There is a slight but satisfying whine under the "please." “I was only thinking, and you startled me.” As he speaks his breath is hot against Hubert’s throat, and it hitches when Hubert’s fingertips trace the curve of his neck, then tap him under the chin. Ferdinand draws back, amber eyes wide and face hot. “Wait, are you going to kiss me?” 

“If you’d like.” He is impressed by his own already impressive restraint as Ferdinand appears to consider. “If you aren’t comfortable, we do..”

“No," Ferdinand interrupts, though there is a nervous tension to his voice. "I think I would like that."

It is not a particularly good kiss, as first kisses go. Hubert is slightly too eager, Ferdinand a shade hesitant, and the whole thing is painfully chaste. 

Which means the whitewater rush of Hubert’s blood in his ears and the near-painful thrum of his heart as he withdraws is disproportionately ridiculous. Ferdinand looks stunned, and this one time when Hubert wishes he would give some clue as to what he is thinking, the man remains frustratingly silent. 

So instead he stands, feigning dispassion. “Well. I have to go back to work.”

Ferdinand follows a half-second after, catching up and grabbing his hand with hot fingers. Hubert is about to comment that they are not school children, they do not need to hold hands in a park, when the other man uses the leverage to pull him close then push him back against the broad tree for a second kiss. This one is deeper, sweeter and far more dangerous- lips and tongue and unleashed wanting. Now he does take his free hand and grip Ferdinand by the hair, relishing the soft moan against his lips. His other hand is still held and pinned, a delicious frustration that only gets worse as Ferdinand steps back, and for a second the only sounds in the world are sharp pulse and panting breaths. Ferdinand has lost a bit of the unsure look, Hubert realizes as he sinks back against the supportive trunk. But he likes the confident gleam in Ferdinand's eyes even more.

“I...if all goes well, I shall be free Friday night,” Ferdinand says, still close enough to make Hubert wonder what terrible person invented the concept of work, much less work that one has to return to, to begin with. “All night, actually. I would like to see you, if that is acceptable.” 

"More than."

And even though Hubert still thinks it is silly, they keep their hands clasped as they leave, and on the train, and until the very last second when doors slide closed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating will go up in the next chapter if Hubert is lucky.


	3. How the Light Gets in Chapter 3

"This is where you live?" Ferdinand steps across the foyer into the living room, lips pressed in a little bow as he surveys the sparse furnishings. 

Hubert is used to the question, though usually the tone is slightly more admiring; Ferdinand’s posture and tongue are a little loose with their dinner wine. 

"Yes." He takes Ferdinand’s coat, then removes his own, glancing back at Ferdinand. "You sound like you have a problem with it."

"Mmm, I was merely expressing that it does not look like anyone lives here. I could get you a very nice vase, if that would not actually kill you." He pats the empty top of a small end table generally only used for keeping keys in view. 

For a moment Hubert sees the room as Ferdinand must: couch free of pointless decorative pillows, glass coffee table bare, white walls free of unnecessarily sentimental touches. Unless one had a taste for dark wood and minimalism, the only thing that could be called “aesthetic” are the large windows overlooking a star-like blanket of city lights, and that was none of his doing. 

"I’m barely here. Knick-knacks are just more work for the cleaners." If he must have a cleaning service, best to make their intrusions as short as possible. He slips an arm around Ferdinand, leaning close to drawl in his ear. "Shall I light a fire? Order flowers? Would that suit you?" 

Ferdinand quirks his lips, warmth more inviting than any fire in his amber eyes. "You are making fun of me." 

Hubert pulls the other man flush against him, smirking at the soft stutter of Ferdinand’s breath. "Yes, because I just took you out for a very nice dinner, and now I have you all alone in my _very_ nice apartment, and apparently you are going to spend the evening complaining about my taste in decoration."

Ferdinand shifts to press his cheek against Hubert’s neck. Hubert can feel the edge of a smile on his skin. 

"If only there were some decoration I could complain about! I know you said you are not one for art, Hubert, but..."

Well, there is absolutely nothing to stop him from shutting Ferdinand up with his mouth now, and by the willing response, the other man expects it.

When he pulls back, Ferdinand’s breath is quick, his eyes soft, and his lips pleasantly shut. 

"You are annoying me on purpose." Hubert slips his hands down from Ferdinand’s hips to finally cup his ass. Delicious. Almost as good as the way the other man is starting to squirm as Hubert holds him fast. "Do you have any idea what I have planned for you?” He plants a soft kiss on the flushed skin of Ferdinand’s neck and is rewarded by a breath that is almost a moan. “Things that you would likely enjoy, if you could just shut up?"

Ferdinand gives a little laugh that belies his nerves. "Believe me, I have some ideas." 

"Good.” Hubert steps away, an inch of cooling space between them. They have all night, there’s no need to drag him to the couch. “I have wine or scotch if you’d like another drink. And I really can put on a fire.” 

“Hmm.” Ferdinand twines his fingers in Hubert’s. "Will you judge me too harshly if I say no thank you, and that if you want to warm me up you should take me to bed right now?"

Hubert chokes, momentarily unsure if this is the actual Ferdinand talking, or the version he has been fantasizing about all week. But a tug on his hand says that this particular Ferdinand, slutty or not, is real. "I...No objections, of course. If you’re sure." 

"Very." This time it is Ferdinand who initiates a kiss, with parted lips and an eager tongue. "But it has been a while."

"Then I am pleased to inform you that the basics haven’t changed in several millenia." Hubert presses on his lower back, steering him towards the bedroom. 

"Ha." Ferdinand pauses in the doorway. Hubert tries to guess what the comment will be. Something about the dark wood furniture resembling a cave? A concerned note about the dozen identical black suits that can be seen hanging inside the closet? There is a monstera in the corner, surely he can’t complain about that."That is an awfully large bed for one person."

It is large; for the sake of his work, what he lacks in a quantity of sleep he endeavors to make up for in quality. "Lucky for my partners then." 

A small frown. "Are there really that many?" 

"Enough." He puts his arms around Ferdinand again, hoping another kiss on the neck will be a distraction. Come to think of it, the last one he’d brought around had also been a mouthy redhead. Perhaps he was developing a type. "I don’t usually take them to dinner, though." Another kiss. "Or let them stay over."

Ferdinand gives a thoughtful hum. "I am staying over?" 

"I should hope so, since otherwise the breakfast tea I bought is just going to take up space in my kitchen." It had been a ridiculous impulse. He hadn’t had any intention of having Ferdinand stay the night; he liked spending mornings in silence, waking and planning the day without distraction. But thoughts of Ferdinand in his sheets had somehow spilled into thoughts of Ferdinand on his sheets, half-dressed and sipping tea in pale morning light. Helping him slip on his jacket and giving him a kiss before work. Probably complaining that Hubert snored or that he wanted some stupid silk pillow to protect his hair. 

Before he’d even realized, the tea in his shopping cart. He had felt profoundly stupid after.

But at that admission, Ferdinand glows. "Oh." He brushes Hubert’s hair away from his face with an achingly tender touch. Hubert is reminded of his restoration work, the care he takes in making old and broken things whole again. “I am pleased to hear that.”

Any reply would be painful. So Hubert kisses him instead. 

#

Ferdinand’s hair is soft under his fingers as Hubert grabs it and he moans. His other hand pushes the Ferdinand’s thigh higher, an angle that makes another loud moan and gasp of praise sing from Ferdinand’s mouth, and fuck, this is worth every single frustrating second... 

The phone on the nightstand begins to buzz, cutting through the haze of pleasure, and Ferdinand stiffens. "Stop, hold on, I have to answer."

"Do you?" Hubert hisses as he withdraws, and Ferdinand grabs the phone.

"Hello?" He pushes himself off the bed, and it’s like Hubert isn’t even there. He paces as he talks, leaving Hubert with nothing more than a flagging erection and the view of his handprints, still red, on Ferdinand’s ass.

"It’s alright, darling. I’ll be there in the morning."

Darling. The word is ice down his spine.

Well. They hadn’t promised anything. They weren’t even officially anything, and just because Hubert had been his first date and apparently his first fuck in years didn’t mean he hadn’t found someone else in the meantime.

Ferdinand keeps the phone to his ear as his eyes meet Hubert’s, his face a picture of guilt.

There are marks on Ferdinand’s neck from Hubert’s teeth. His hair is wrecked, his body still glistening. If this is going to be the only time, it’s a nice view as the whole thing burns down.

"We’ve talked about this. They’re not real." He mouths a ‘sorry’ at Hubert, becoming more confused by the moment. "I know. I know. Okay. Can you pass the phone again, please?" A pause. "I’m terribly sorry...I see." He sits back on the bed, a dozen variations of concern and affection flitting across his face.

This close Hubert can hear crying on the other line, words lost in hiccups. "I’ll be there soon. I love you." He hangs up, and turns to bury his face in Hubert’s neck with a groan of an entirely different flavor than the ones from just moments before. "I have to go."

"Of course you do." Hubert’s fists ball on the bedsheets. "Are you going to explain what’s going on? Some other lover missing you tonight?"

Ferdinand has a stunned look. "I...no. That was my daughter."

Daughter. Ferdinand’s hesitancy, his strange schedule, the sudden cancellations all make sense now. 

"She is seven," he continues, "and this was only her second sleepover. Apparently her classmate has a love of ghost stories, and things have gotten out of hand."

He is already collecting his clothing and getting dressed, covering that lovely skin inch by inch. "I just...I really am sorry. Can you call me a car, please?" 

A masochistic streak speaks for him. "I’ll drive you."

At least this late at night there’s barely any traffic requiring his attention, and they zip through and under city lights, the world painted in grays and yellows. 

“I was going to tell you. I meant to tell you,” Ferdinand says, looking out the window at the darkened buildings flitting by. 

“When?” 

"What with my family and her mother’s fans, I am used to protecting our privacy, so I suppose... until I could trust that you were serious about me."

Of course Ferdinand couldn’t know that the fact that he had bothered at all meant. "I was." He doesn’t bother to temper the chill in the words.

"Was." Ferdinand’s echo is the dull thud of a dropped stone. 

He is glad they’re seated side by side. From the pale glimmers of Ferdinand’s crestfallen reflection in the windshield, it would cut to look at him. 

Twenty silent minutes later they pull into the driveway of a nondescript house in a nondescript suburb, and Ferdinand is talking to someone he can’t see at the door. When he comes back, his arms are full, a pastel blue backpack slung over one shoulder, a little girl resting on the other, her long arms wound tightly around his neck. Her face is barely visible behind her long curtain of brown hair, bare legs kicking out of the bottom of a pale pink nightgown. 

Ferdinand slips them in the back, sitting behind Hubert and his daughter in the seat beside, buckling her in despite exhausted whines of protest. As soon as she is secured she wiggles out of the shoulder strap and flops ragdoll-limp onto Ferdinand, pillowing her head on his leg as he strokes her hair. 

"Drive carefully, please."

"You say it as if I don’t." But he does take care to shift and turn so gently that the child never stirs. 

Ferdinand’s own home is a townhouse in roughly the same neighborhood they first met in, though a more neglected part. It doesn’t look cheap, exactly, but it is older, without any yard to speak of. 

Ferdinand swings the backpack over a shoulder and picks the girl up again. Now she opens her eyes to look at Hubert in a child’s tired and sullen confusion. They’re the same amber gold as her father’s. 

"Can you wait here just a moment while I put Clarissa to bed?" 

“It’s late, Ferdinand.” It is after midnight now, and his eyes are starting ache with tired dryness, and it is a long drive back to the other side of Enbarr.

“Please.” 

The front door shuts, and Hubert considers simply driving away and never contacting him again. He is aware it would be cruel, but cruelty is it’s own useful weapon. Leaving might momentarily sting Ferdinand, but with Hubert so clearly callous, it wouldn’t leave a lasting wound. He moves to start the engine. It’s the kindest option for them both.

But Ferdinand is already jogging back to the car. He is still apologizing, opening the car door, pulling Hubert out and inside. 

Ferdinand’s touch is all over the interior, rich antique woods and leather, each elegant decoration chosen with care. It’s at odds with what’s on the floor; stiff-legged plastic ponies and their neon stable, a dog-eared copy of ‘lady knights in history for young readers,’ what looks like dried macaroni.

A glance at the kitchen reveals a pile of dishes and boxes of cereal and a lunch box with yet more cartoon horses. The fridge is covered in terrible art and half-crossed off to-do lists. 

On the walls are photos of Ferdinand in an entirely different life than the one Hubert has inferred. There is a younger Ferdinand, his arm around a statuesque brunette at some glamorous event, radiantly matched. The same woman with her arms around their little girl, smiling and round and barely out of toddlerhood. More photos of Clarissa, older, at ballet recitals and pony shows and posing next to Ferdinand on the beach, both sunburned and sand-smeared and happy.

This is a home. This is a life.The realization sinks in: there would never be mornings of Ferdinand waking up in his bed to lazily sip tea, no stealing him away for impulsive trips or afternoon sex on the kitchen table. There could only be what they’ve had the past few weeks, or less. 

Hubert does not understand family, not in this warm, instinctive way, but he does understand obligation. He understands sacrifices.

He should have driven away. 

“Hubert...” Ferdinand starts, but Hubert stops him with a raised hand. 

“There’s no need to explain. You were acting as you thought you needed to. And your daughter is lovely.” That he can say honestly. With the pale brown hair and intelligent eyes, she looks a little like Edelgard did at that age. 

Ferdinand brightens, stepping closer to him. “I am glad you think so, I hope one day I can introduce you properly, and...”

“No,” Hubert cuts him off. “I wish you both all the best, Ferdinand, but this isn’t going to work.”

Ferdinand tilts his chin up, the way he always does before starting an argument, and if they could just go back to bickering about coffee or vases perhaps this would be easier. “I accept the blame for my dishonesty, but I do not see why this changes things. At least now you will not think I am avoiding you when I cannot meet. I...I thought you liked me.” 

“I did.” _I do._

“But this is me. This is the best part of my life. If you like me, you must at least accept this, too.” He speaks with the conviction of someone who believes that if he simply says something with enough passion, it will magically become true. 

“There is nothing I “must” do except see you and your daughter safely home, which I have done. Goodbye, Ferdinand.” He lets himself touch that beautiful hair one last time, crooks a finger to ghost Ferdinand’s cheek. “I only wish I’d brought the tea to give you, it will be a shame to throw it out.”

The flash of naked hurt on Ferdinand’s face makes the barb double-edged, but Hubert forces his face impassive, his steps assured. 

It is an act that impresses even him as he walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a downer chapter but I promise this will have a HEA!
> 
> Hubert just has to come to terms with the fact that while he is barely ready to pass the certification for Boyfriend class, Ferdinand is already on New Game+.


	4. How the Light Gets In chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand’s flush deepens slightly. “She may have gotten a rather...dramatic recounting of your exit. And if you go to the opera gala this year you may have a glass of champagne dumped on your head by one of the stars.”
> 
> “That will make it the most entertaining gala I’ve attended yet.” He props his chin on his hand. “Well, go on, if you are here, I might as well listen.”
> 
> “To start, I believe you were wrong…”
> 
> -  
> kiss and make up

Strange how quiet can feel like screaming. 

Hubert’s phone sits silent in the mornings, no cheerful texts, certainly no illicit pictures. He gets home from work and sits in silence again, a book and a drink and no soft, pattered conversation- soft, he realizes now, because there was a child sleeping. The gloss and space of his apartment seem cold now, and the revelation is irritating, like putting on a pair of glasses and seeing the world in perfect focus when you’d been convinced your vision was fine. 

He takes to long drives on the weekend, until the changing leaves look too much like Ferdinand’s hair. He convinces himself he really needs to try coffee from a roastery in Ferdinand’s neighborhood, that it is absolutely not stalking. 

He is, he realizes with a touch of bafflement, moping.

Perhaps he should have made more efforts to date, inoculated himself in an act of romantic mithridatism, and then he would not feel so absolutely put out by (rightfully) breaking up with someone he had only known for a month. The problem, he reasons, is not Ferdinand. It is a lack of foresight on his part leading to a mistake he simply will endeavor not to repeat. 

He explains this to Bernadetta as she stares up at him, holding out a wrench when asked as he fixes her greenhouse lights. Her mouth is slightly open in a way he has come to recognize as meaning she has something very specific to say, and doesn’t want to.

“Bernadetta,” he says patiently, twisting a loose bulb and shaking the structure gently Secure enough. Hubert steps down from the stepladder and wipes a few drops of sweat from his forehead, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms. It’s hot under the glass, and though she hadn’t specifically asked him to check the entire thing, he had already been up there. “either stop looking at me like that or say something.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I’m really mad at you, okay?!” 

Hubert blinks. Bernadetta looks slightly green and her thin shoulders shake, on the verge of hyperventilation. 

“You’re mad at me?” He tries to tamper his incredulous laugh; it tended to make her cringe, and that would be several steps backward.

She opens a single storm-gray eye. “Oh, huh, I’m not...dead.” 

“You are not.” Hubert agrees, offering her a hand as she looks quite unsteady. “Do you need to sit down?”

She pulls him to sit cross legged on the tiled floor, tucked next to a pitcher plant grown fat and green with care.   
Then she puts her head in her hands. “Ugh, just listening to you is the worst!! Ferdinand really liked you, you know. And I know it’s hard to tell with you, but um, I thought you liked him, too? And now you’re here with me, talking about it like it’s some kind of logic problem...” She sways, gulping a sudden breath. “He was really hurt, okay?” 

He wasn’t the only one. “Did you know about his daughter?”

Bernadetta brings her hands together, caught, and looks up with the expression of a hooked fish. “I...embroider her ballet costumes. And babysit sometimes. Oh please don’t be mad at me, too!” Her voice is pitched to cracking.

“Why can’t I be mad at you? You just said you were mad at me. That’s hardly fair.” 

She whimpers, and he holds up a hand in surrender. 

“I am not angry. Not at you, anyway. And not at him anymore, either. It is merely a conflict in obligations.”

At that she rallies, cheeks flushing to jump back into the fight. “Obligations are basically your favorite thing, Hubert! Why are you here?”

It is such an obvious question that he answers without thought. “Because the light fixture is broken, and you cannot reach it.”

She scrunches her nose. “Okay, that’s true. But you like taking responsibility for stuff!” 

“I enjoy cultivating those things I have chosen, yes.” Not relationships started in a muddle of desire and lies. 

“You should call him.” 

“And say what?” He had nothing to say to Ferdinand von Aegir, and he was reasonably sure Ferdinand had a whole list of things to say to him that he did not want to hear. 

“That you’re sorry, you big...you big dummy!” She goes tomato red, and this time Hubert can’t stop his laugh. “I’ve...I’ve spent a lot of time by myself because I was scared, and being alone let me...I don’t know...handle the scared. But knowing people has been good! Maybe not right at this exact moment, since I am about to cross to the hereafter, but as my final dying wish I would like…” 

“You think I’m scared?” Bernadetta. Calling him scared. 

Well isn’t _that_ humiliating.

Her voice becomes very still, her hands clasped white around the knuckles. “I think you want things if they’re on your terms, but that’s not how life works. That’s just...sitting in your room. Alone.” 

He puts a hand on Bernadetta’s head and she jumps. But she clearly feels better for having said her piece. 

“I’ll consider it,” he says.

“You’re lying.” 

“I am,” he agrees. “If you are so concerned about my being alone, why don’t we go to dinner?” 

Her lips twist and a touch of despair flickers in her eyes. 

“..or, if that demonstration has exhausted you, I can order takeout.”

She lets him help her up, not letting go of his arm. “See, Hubert? This is exactly what I mean!” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he lies. When he looks down at her again, her face is thoughtful. If the look had been on his own face, he would say it signified...plotting. 

#

Work has been thankfully exhausting, any snappishness easily passed off as the stress that comes with twelve hour office shifts and two a.m. realizations of coding errors that send him lurching back to a screen. Edelgard knows there is more to it, because of course she does; she’d been personally affronted by the fact that she had to catch news of Hubert’s love life in third-hand gossip from Claude von Reigan of all people, and demanded details with all the subtlety of an axe blow. 

When the dark cloud perpetually around Hubert darkens from summer storm to impending tornado she at least has more subtlety, asking if he would like a personal day, or worse, to talk about it, and Hubert suddenly fully understands how Bernadetta can feel her life force slipping away from mere conversation.

He declines, and that is the end of it. The next two weeks are devoted to the Derdriu branch’s server protocols and code so patched over the security loopholes are monster-sized, a task that occasionally requires overnights in the office and affords no time to think about golden-red hair freckled skin.

A sharp knock hits his door, and before he can even answer a pink head pops in. “Hey Hubert!” Hilda has a shit-eating grin that sends a bolt of fear directly to his gut. “Got something for you, and I’m taking the rest of the team out here down to lunch, so next time I’m in need of a favor, think of your old pal Hilda, hm? Bye now!”

With that she shoves a very startled looking Ferdinand von Aegir through the door and shuts it. Over the sudden rush of blood to his ears and woosh of air from his lungs, Hilda yells something about sandwiches. 

They blink at each other and speak at the same time.

“Are you stalking me now?”

“ _You_ were the one who requested a grant proposal?”

They try again.

“Grant proposal?”

_”Stalking??”_

Ferdinand holds up a hand to speak first. “The museum is requesting a donation of Hresvelg funds for various improvements and a hand in some of our excavation and restoration projects. I was told to prepare a proposal. Then that young woman with the pink hair grabbed me and said she knew just where I was going, and I was grateful for the assistance.” 

Hubert grimaces. Hilda hadn’t seen his face from the picture, but she had definitely seen his hair. 

“And it is just a coincidence that you knew where I work and decided you had to show up in person?”

Ferdinand looks like he is trying very hard to suppress an eye roll, an expression far too petulant for his noble features. “The delivery was requested. Besides, Hubert, this building has fifty floors. If I wanted to stalk you, I do know where you live, remember.”

He did remember. He remembered a lot, late at night, hand on himself. 

Ferdinand has not gotten any less attractive in the intervening weeks, which is unfortunate. His gray slacks and vest tight over a crisp white shirt, hair braided back… He flushes, and Hubert realizes he’s been caught staring. It’s possible his mouth was open. “Well, as this is clearly not where I am supposed to be, I will take my leave.” 

“Let me look at your proposal.” Hubert holds out a hand, mouth getting ahead of himself. 

Ferdinand holds the envelope to his chest. “This is confidential. I do not think cyber security has anything to do with donation allocation.”

“You’d be surprised at what I’m involved in.” He keeps his hand out. “I know our budget, and I know anything that will get struck. Consider this insider information a gift.” _An apology._

Ferdinand still looks wary.

“After I’ve looked it over, I’ll take you to Miss Hresvelg personally.” 

Ferdinand finally passes over the envelope. “Fine. Thank you.” 

Ferdinand stands too close as Hubert annotates, close enough to smell him, enough to call up the visceral memory of what he tastes Iike. His pen stutters on the paper, and the way Ferdinand is speaking, without even a hitch in his voice, makes him want to grab the other man and pin him down, pull his hair, devour him. Anything to get a reaction.

Instead he draws a line through a particular clause. “Edelgard will not be interested in funding cathedral renovations.” 

“A pity,” Ferdinand sighs, and his breath dances across Hubert’s neck and momentarily wipes his mind blank. “it is a beautiful building.” 

“There,” he says finally. “Focus on this, and offer up a named wing, and I believe she will be amenable.” 

Ferdinand’s smile is brilliant. “Thank you, Hubert. This is more than I deserve, really.”

Hubert hopes his grunt sounds appropriately non-committal.

“I have been trying to call and apologize,” Ferdinand continues. “At least let me get that out.”

“Bernie did mention as much.” 

Ferdinand’s flush deepens slightly. “She may have gotten a rather...dramatic recounting of your exit. And if you go to the opera gala this year you may have a glass of champagne dumped on your head by one of the stars.”

“That will make it the most entertaining gala I’ve attended yet.” He props his chin on his hand. “Well, go on, if you are here, I might as well listen.”

“To start, I believe you were wrong…”

Hubert cuts him off with a bark of a laugh. “That’s how you apologize?” It is obnoxious and overly-confident and so perfectly Ferdinand that it snaps at his heart. 

“Allow me to finish?”

“Not unless you’d like to try again with “I’m sorry.”

“Fine, I can certainly be the bigger man here. _I’m sorry_ ,” Ferdinand parrots back, eyebrows drawing together. “I can admit that I made a mistake in not telling you, but in my defense, I have never done this before.”

“You think I have?”

“Clearly. Which is why there was no reason for you to leave on such a note. I am not some bridge in need of burning.”

“I suppose not.” 

They sit in silence for a heartbeat. 

“Well.” Ferdinand straightens, smoothing down his slacks. “I have said my piece, and I have forgiven you, whether you asked for it or not.”

“Then I apologize as well. I was not wrong, but I may have been...harsh.”

“...Thank you, then.” But he looks more concerned than pleased.

“What? I thought you wanted an apology.”

“I did, but I must confess I had also hoped it would come with an admission that you would like to start over, with honesty. I know it is not ideal, but life rarely is. I happen to know that “not ideal” can still be...good, in many ways.” 

The vulnerability in those eyes is painful. It makes Hubert want to snap at him, jab that soft heart until he wisens up and armors it. 

_You want things on your terms._

That was how they’d built this business- strong negotiation. Never compromising. 

This delicate thing before him is not a business, or a calculation, or a programming code. He could stay as he was and be satisfied.

There was a razor-edge difference between satisfied and happy.

“I never wanted to be a father,” he says finally. 

“I am not asking you to be. I don’t intend to force you into my life, Hubert, I just want...support, I suppose. Romance. The occasional,” and here he flushes so prettily Hubert strangles the urge to bite him, “distraction.” 

“If you want romance, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Ferdinand laughs and places one hand atop Hubert’s. The slide of skin on skin tightens the coil of desire in his gut. “Hubert, you literally stopped having sex with me then proceeded to drive me across town in the middle of the night to pick up my child, I promise that is peak romance.”

“And here I thought you would be the type to want flowers.”

“Well,” Ferdinand replies, turning to lean back against the desk. “I would not mind also getting flowers.” 

Hubert stands and pushes back against Ferdinand so the other man is forced to hop up onto the desk, and he stands in the v of his legs. “No flowers.” 

“That sounds very much like I have already won this negotiation.”

“Hm.” Hubert leans forward planting a soft kiss on the exposed skin of Ferdinand’s neck, and smiles at the rewarding gasp. “You have a skill for it, I will admit. Have you ever considered changing careers? We are always looking to recruit new talent.”

“Would I be working underneath you, then?” Ferdinand’s arms wrap around him as he dips the other man back farther onto the desk. “Mr. von Vestra, this is a most unconventional job interview.” 

“Consider it more of a trial run,” Hubert says, and kisses him again.

#

Ferdinand is...exceptionally energized in his presentation to Edelgard, who listens with nods and small questions, and promises to look over the proposal carefully. He leaves with a smile and faint pink still lighting his cheeks, and Hubert has to force himself not to keep eyes on him all the way to the elevator.

Edelgard drums her fingers on her desk. “And you are sure this is a good idea, Hubert?” 

He had thought the outline spoke for itself. “I looked over the numbers, and I believe it would be an agreeable charitable use of discretionary funds...”  
“Not that, my friend. I assume you two made up, but your poor staff really don’t deserve whatever...the last few weeks have been.”

“Excuse me?” This is not quite as bad as her asking if he needs personal time to deal with a break-up, but it’s a close second.

She laces her hands together and leans forward at her desk. It’s a position he’s seen often when she’s about to bring the hammer down on a competitor or troublesome employee, never directed at him. “When Bernadetta called me…”

“Bernadetta called you?” He would have thought getting to fuck Ferdinand on his desk would be the biggest shock of the die, but life was surprising like that.

Edelgard’s smile widens. “Four times. On the fourth she actually spoke.” 

“And she told you to fix it?” He wonders if bringing this up to Bernadetta would, in fact, kill her, and whether his CPR certification is out of date. 

“No, she was simply worried. I decided to fix it. Hilda was an easy accomplice.” 

Of course she was. Hilda is a perfectly useless employee, the opportunity to forgo real work was likely the answer to her shallow prayers. 

“But on another note, Hubert,” she looks positively devilish now, and he would generally appreciate the gleam in those violet eyes were it not directed so precisely at him, “Do I need to prepare an inter-company memo about appropriate office activities?” 

He stutters, attempting to salvage propriety, as she continues.

“Your buttons are wrong, and honestly there are parts of this paperwork I don’t want to touch.” She points to a particularly wrinkled page, at some point grasped by a clenching fist.

Hubert does not dignify that with any acknowledgment, merely calculates the steps to the nearest restroom where he can scream in private. “It will not happen again. May I go now?”

She tilts her chin in a way that looks supremely doubtful, and he is relatively sure he has never had a fever that matches the current temperature of his skin.

“You may. And you’re lucky I think this is punishment enough.”

Punishment, she says, with glee in her eyes.

“Tell your boyfriend we will be cutting a check, and I look forward to touring the Hresvelg wing.” 

He inclines his chin and turns. 

He is in the elevator before he realizes he accepted the mention of his “boyfriend” without protest.


	5. How the Light Gets in Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we going straight home?” There is a needling note in the girl's question.
> 
> “I assume so,” he answers. Ferdinand’s instructions had been home, dinner, homework, and bed by eight. 
> 
> “You’re the one driving, you shouldn’t assume, you should know.” 
> 
> His lip twitches. It’s a fair point. “Fine. We are going home.” 
> 
> ___________  
> Babysitter Hubert!

The delivery is scheduled for two p.m. At two oh four, Hubert’s phone lights, and he snatches it, a smug smile already tugging at his lips.

“Ferdinand.”

“Oh, Hubert, you really shouldn’t have!”

Over the past six months, Hubert has become accustomed to the minutiae of Ferdinand’s vocal inflections, and this one says yes, he really should have, well done. He swivels in his office chair, looking out into cloud-darkened air, glass misting with a light rain. Hopefully the flowers clear away any sighs about the weather daring to be so dreary on such a lovely day as a six-month anniversary. 

“They _are_ gorgeous but this is ludicrously large, everyone is staring you know. I thought we agreed to wait until we would actually see each other to give presents.”

If there is something Ferdinand loves more than being adored, it is having other people see him being adored. Still, Hubert can’t help but tease. “Apologies, I shall have them replaced with something more discreet. Removed altogether, if you prefer.”

“Never!” 

His voice is muffled, face no doubt buried in a mess of yellow roses and pale lilies. “I wish I could stay on the line and thank you properly…”

Hubert perks up, kicking out his feet to rest on the windowsill. “Oh?” 

“But I am in a bit of a bind, so I quite reluctantly have to let you go.” 

He can picture Ferdinand now, doing nothing so casually crass as putting his feet up like Hubert, but perhaps digging the nib of his pen into unluckily close paper, or winding strands of copper through anxious fingers. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“You may remember that I’m lecturing on medieval war tack tonight.”

Hubert indeed remembers very well, he’d listened to the whole thing twice over. Something about curbs and shanks, only interesting when it got into the bloody parts, but Ferdinand was a sight when lecturing on something he was passionate about. 

“and there’s the reception afterwards, it will be quite a late affair. Well, our friend Dorothea was supposed to babysit but she seems to have fallen ill, and now I am trying to find someone who can pick Clarissa up in an hour and hopefully…oh, hold on.”

There was a pause, and a cluck of a tongue. “Oh. Well, Bernadetta is out. I will call you back as soon as this is sorted, Hubert, sorry and thank you aga…”

“I can do it. If you’re desperate.” The offer was instinctive and immediate; Ferdinand needed help, it was only reasonable for his boyfriend to offer to provide. 

The silence on the line echoes, and an embarrassed twinge teases his gut. 

They hadn’t planned for Hubert to be formally introduced to Clarissa any time soon, but the lack of response seems a gentle suggestion that Ferdinand does not even trust him to keep her safe and breathing for an evening. He doesn't want to act as a babysitter, therefore it shouldn't sting...and yet.

“I would never impose,” Ferdinand says finally. “You certainly have more important things to do than babysit. There are services I can call..”

“That are going to charge you how much of a premium for this short notice? I don’t have any more meetings today, and I can finish up the rest this evening. If all you need is a responsible adult to take her from school to your home and prevent disaster, I’m sure I can manage.” The girl was what, eight now? Surely she couldn’t be that much of a handful. 

“I would not ask that of you, I am sure someone else will be available. But thank you for offering.” 

“Very well." It's only reasonable that Ferdinand would prefer someone more child-friendly than his lover, he reasons, drumming fingers against his thigh. It doesn't say anything about him in particular, or Ferdinand's feelings. It is simple logic. "Call me if that changes.”

“I will. Thank you again for the flowers. I am only sorry my present has to actually be delivered in person.” There is an amused lilt to his tone that makes Hubert straighten, but before he can interrogate, Ferdinand has slipped off the line.

Thirty minutes later Hubert’s phone is ringing again, and his ears are full of pickup etiquette and bedtimes and television rules while his heart is quietly vindicated.

#

The outside of the school is filled with dozens of children and as many cars; the rain has let up. They’re all short, many with brown hair, and while Ferdinand had said she would have a pastel blue backpack, apparently the color was all the rage with the ten-and-under crowd. 

He pulls up in line and steps out. The children aren’t looking, but the other parents- almost entirely mothers in athleisure or flower-printed spring dresses- are staring. Perhaps its what a gazelle feels like before being devoured by lionesses.

A monitor walks over, and after a few minutes to assure that yes, he is the man Mr. von Aegir called to confirm would be picking up his daughter, she escorts a young brunette girl to him. She’s gotten slightly taller in the months since he last saw her, and her face is now fully awake, and not entirely pleased. She is far more serious looking than any child of his brilliant Ferdinand should be, her amber eyes keen and dissecting instead of lit with sparkle.

“What is the password?”

Ah, Ferdinand had mentioned this. Something about preventing kidnapping, though really, pepper spray would probably be more effective. “Southern fruit blend.”

She gives a small nod, apparently satisfied, and sticks out her hand. There is a film of residual glue and a dusting of glitter on her fingers. “I am Clarissa Elizabet Cassagranda von Aegir.”

The name is bigger than she is. He takes her hand anyway. “Hubert von Vestra. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her handshake is like the rest of her, strangely firm and polite. 

She slips into the car and curls into the bucket seat, holding her backpack primly on her lap. The only acknowledgement of Hubert’s presence as they pull away are glances out of the corner of her eye.

It’s probably selfish to be pleased that Ferdinand did not spawn an equal chatterbox, but Hubert is grateful all the same; he is prepared to listen to speeches about unicorns or jump rope or whatever it is little girls like, for Ferdinand’s sake, but Clarissa seems content with the hum of wheels on wet pavement and the occasional splash. She doesn't speak until they ease onto the main road.

“Are we going straight home?” There is a needling note in the girl's question.

“I assume so,” he answers. Ferdinand’s instructions had been home, dinner, homework, and bed by eight. 

“You’re the one driving, you shouldn’t assume, you should know.” 

His lip twitches. It’s a fair point. “Fine. We are going home.” 

A sigh says that isn’t the right answer, and she hugs her backpack tighter to her chest. “Can we go to the beach?” 

“Now?” The rain may have stopped, but the sky is still dark, and the spring winds carry a chill. “It’s far too cold to swim.” He’s heard children like to test new people, much like animals unsure if new masters know the rules or not. Maybe that’s what this is.

She gives a little shrug, and turns back to the window. “I don’t want to swim.” 

Well, it isn’t like he has anything better planned, and a dreary day at the beach does have some charms. He pulls off at the exit that leads to Enbarr’s waterfront.

This finally grants him some attention; Clarissa shifts in the seat so she can speak facing him. “How do you know my dad?”

They’d discussed this; for now, Hubert would remain a mere friend helping out in a pinch. “Bernadetta introduced us, actually.”

Clarissa brightens, looking more like Ferdinand with interest lighting her eyes. “Oh. So you know Dorothea, too?” 

“Your other babysitter?”

“The opera star?” She shakes her head and looks away again. “She was supposed to come.”

This wasn’t my first choice either, he says, inside. She’s already slipped back into silence.

The beach is deserted. Hubert takes a seat on a bench whose paint has been stripped away by wind and sand, and Clarissa removes her shoes and socks and runs down to the waterfront. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture as she kneels in the cold, wet sand, dragging her finger to write something he can’t read. Whatever it is, it takes her several tries, smearing her foot over the words and kneeling to write again.

He sends the picture to Ferdinand with a flick of his finger. Perhaps he’d get some extra boyfriend points for being so indulgent. 

Whatever spell she’s casting complete, the girl steps back and watches as waves wash over her writing, white-foam water rushing up to her ankles. Then she runs back up to Hubert, steps lighter even though she’s shivering. “I’m done.”

“Do you want to go home, or do you want to eat here? I’m not much of a cook. If we go home it’s takeout or cereal.”

She tries to brush off her hands, only succeeds in smearing sand. “I can make macaroni And hot dogs.”

He isn’t sure if it’s a statement or offer, but the thought of a third grader’s take on mac and cheese isn’t particularly appetizing. 

“And there’s ice cream over there,” she continues, pointing. 

“For dinner? You look cold already.”

But he hands her a bill, and she comes back with two cones and takes the bigger of them. He puts his jacket over her slim shoulders, drowning her, and looks at the ocean so he doesn’t have to see chocolate melt dripping onto expensive wool.

“Dad always says the beach is a great place to go on bad days,” she says in between licks.

“Is it a bad day, then?” Perhaps that explained the sour reception. 

“It’s a little better now.” Her legs swing, slow, then more quickly. “Aren’t you going to ask why it was bad? Dad always says talking about it helps.”

Perhaps Ferdinand would be pleased that his daughter, at least, paid attention when he spoke. “Does it?”

She pulls a marshmallow out of the ice cream and eats it, licking sticky fingers. “Sometimes.” 

“Will it help today?”

Her eyes turn up, thoughtful. “Probably not.”

“Then no.” 

Their eyes meet, and he gets his first actual smile out of her. She eats the rest of the ice cream and holds out her hands. ”Gotta rinse off.” 

She does, but it doesn’t help; his suit is stained, and there will be sand in his car for weeks. 

It’s past seven when they return to Ferdinand’s home, eight by the time they finish homework even though by the end of the multiplication tables Hubert is giving her the answers and she looks at his every mental calculation like he’s a sort of wizard. She’s in bed by nine, and, after picking up the disaster of a living room, Hubert settles in to take the rest of the night for work. 

It’s just past midnight when headlights shine in the driveway.

Ferdinand stumbles in, clearly a little drunk and a lot exhausted, muttering to himself as he throws a briefcase down in the hallway Hubert has just finished picking up not hours before. When he sees Hubert the change is electric, face lighting up. “Darling!” 

He joins him on the couch, sitting in his lap, and Hubert presses a kiss to his lover's forehead, content to have him in his arms. Ferdinand is solid and overly warm with drink, his lips slightly chapped and his tie loose.

“Didn’t think I was going to see you today at all,” Ferdinand sighs into his neck, the soft breath sending a shiver over his skin. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.” He tilts Ferdinand’s head back for a kiss, deep and wine-tinged. One more, payment for the stolen afternoon. Another for the fact that his leather seats are currently being abraded by sand. 

By the time he feels he's collected in full, the sun is coming up.

#

The next morning Hubert's phone rings just as he gets to the office. “I asked Clary what she thought of you,” Ferdinand says by way of hello.

“Oh? Please don’t leave me in suspense of the verdict.” He takes a sip of coffee, quietly hoping it isn’t too negative. Ferdinand will forgive any slight against himself, Hubert is sure, but he holds his daughter’s opinion above all.

“She said, and I quote...“he’s okay.”

Hubert chokes back a laugh that seems to be misinterpreted as Ferdinand rushes in to explain that no, that’s actually praise. “But, um, I may have woken her up coming in. And...she may have seen you kiss me.”

He hadn’t noticed any eyes peering from the shadows, but he had also been distracted. Thank goodness he'd deemed the pair of them too tired (and in Ferdinand's case, too sloppy drunk) for anything more than a few kisses and whispered promises for later he is fairly sure little ears could not have picked up on. “How did she react to that? Seeing as how I am apparently "okay.”

“Mm...not spectacularly,” Ferdinand sighs, and Hubert winces. He's had performance reviews that feel less cutting.

"I...see. Was she surprised to see you with another man?" 

"Oh, no, she grew up around the opera, Hubert, she's perfectly fine with gay couples...it's just...she’s had it in her head that I would marry our friend Dorothea. Be a family, have a mother, that kind of thing. Children don't want to be different, and there's so much I can't give her...well.” 

"Ferdinand, you..." Hubert isn't good at comfort, but he can try.

“Can I ask why you went to the beach?” Ferdinand swerves before Hubert has to try to assuage his guilt.

“I don’t know. She said she’d had a bad day, but not why.”

A thoughtful hum sings on the line. “I grew up on the coast, you know. My mother taught me to write everything to the water; worries, wishes, anything the sea would eat. We went often after her mother passed.” 

Hubert stills trying again to find words, but Ferdinand continues before he can.

“But, after the tears and much discussion, I think I can say that she doesn’t dislike you, I think. And...I hope you did not dislike her.” Worry bites at Ferdinand's voice. 

“It was not an unpleasant time,” Hubert settles on. “I would be willing to assist again if the need arises.”

Ferdinand’s laugh sends a warm bloom to his chest. “A rousing success then, from the two most difficult loves of my life.”

The warmth turns shocked and sharp. “Ah.”

The laughter turns to an uncomfortable hiccup on the line. “...is it too early to tell you I love you? Please don’t feel pressured to say it back.”

Has anyone ever told him that before? He searches his memories; the family ones are old and dank and bring a chill, those of prior entanglements far more heated and pleasant, but hardly touching emotional depth. Edelgard’s trust was as good as an admission of love, albeit not the same. 

What is love, really? 

He wishes they’d had this whole conversation in person, so he could see the color on Ferdinand’s cheeks, the sharp bow of his lips, run a hand through his hair to reassure him. The lack of Ferdinand suddenly aches like a severed limb. 

That’s probably something close.

“I love you, too.” If he has devolved into such a sentimental sop, he might as well go all the way and please Ferdinand with it.

He expects a joyful retort, perhaps a relieved chuckle, anything except more silence. He crushes the phone to his ear, straining for sounds that might provide a hint as to the reason he’s being ignored.

Ferdinand’s breaths are clear and quick.

“Ferdinand,” he tries. “Are you still there? Was that not what you wanted me to say?”

Another heartbeat, then two. “No, no, it was, I just wasn’t expecting to hear it.” A deep, shuddering breath that sounds almost like the shaky sigh of one of the horses he loves to visit. “I got dizzy and had to sit down.”

Hubert's lips part in amused surprise. “Of everything we’ve done, that’s what gets you weak in the knees?”

“I refuse to consider my overwhelming delight a problem.” 

Hubert gestures at empty air. “By all means, my dear, be delighted. But be delighted quickly, I have a phone conference to hop on in ten minutes.” 

“I will take as much time as I please, thank you. But I will let you go. I love you.” Hubert can hear a fidgeting rustle of fingers. “I am sorry, you are going to hear that a good many  
times until the novelty wears off.”

Hubert smirks, but heat lingers on his cheeks. “You will likely hear it markedly less. But rest assured it is no less true, and perhaps the rarity will keep it fresh, hm?”

Even Ferdinand’s laugh is sunshine. “I suppose I can live with that. Perhaps it is even for the best, if I insist on growing faint each time you tell me.” 

“Next time I’ll tell you in person, and be there to catch you.”

“Mm,” Ferdinand hums in the tone that says he’s locked onto some fantasy. “Then I look forward to swooning into your arms. Please do a few pushups in the interim to ensure you can hold me.”

Hubert clucks his tongue. While it is true Ferdinand has more bulk to him and could probably more easily be the one giving Hubert the princess treatment, it seems quite uncharitable to point it out at the moment. “Please stop being obnoxious or I will want to drop you, and then where will we be?” 

“I love you.” Ferdinand’s voice has gone soft, like it’s whispering a secret. Hubert looks out onto the city, as if he can somehow see his lover there, eyes closed, waiting.

“Likewise.”


End file.
